


Something Good Can Work

by beersforqueers



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Bookstore AU, M/M, Sokka is REALLY gay, Zuko is oblivious, is anyone surprised?, there's some Lady Gaga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beersforqueers/pseuds/beersforqueers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bookstore AU! In which Sokka tries to not-so-subtly pick up the cute boy working in the bookstore, and the cute boy is totally oblivious. Because the cute boy is Zuko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...so here's another one...
> 
> All translations done by Piyo, because who doesn't fluently speak 4 languages, amirite??

Sokka gets the text while he’s huddled under an awning in the rain and abstractly wondering whether or not he can get pizza delivered to this very spot. The best part about living in Chicago has to be the pizza.

When his phone buzzes he nearly drops his coffee, shifting his bag and papers around so that he can dig into his pocket to retrieve it. He squints down at the cracked screen and lets out a whoop of delight.

 _Hot Asian scar guy is working, get your ass here_ pops up from Toph.

He spills his coffee during his mad dash to the bookstore and doesn’t even care.

 

* * *

 

The guy is back.

Zuko watches him suspiciously from behind the counter as he wanders aimlessly through the stacks, stopping every once in a while to flip through a book or shoot not-very-subtle looks over at Zuko. Whenever he catches Zuko looking, he blushes and grabs whatever is closest like that’ll help cover his strange behavior.

Somehow Zuko doesn’t think _The Duchess and the Scoundrel_ is on this guy’s reading list.

Although, to be fair, this guy is hard to peg. Zuko doesn’t really think of himself as a person with a functional gaydar, but he _seems_ pretty gay. He has one of those hipster undercuts where the back and sides of his head are shaved and the top is pulled back into a ponytail, and there are several little hoops in each of his ears. Zuko is pretty sure he can see some chipped black polish on his nails, and his ripped jeans are slung low on his hips, revealing a strip of toned abdomen. It must be raining outside, because his white t-shirt is clinging damply to his chest.

 _Don’t stare don’t stare don’t stare_ , Zuko chants to himself, rearranging the stand of bookmarks on the counter for the third time since the guy walked in. He peeks over the top of it anyway, but he’s disappeared into the art books. This is a pretty hipster independent bookstore, and their main clientele are college students and recent-and-still-unemployed graduates.

The guy rounds the postcard rack, biting idly at a ragged thumbnail. He shoots another glance at Zuko, who pretends to ignore it, and pokes halfheartedly through the ironic bumper stickers.

This has to end.

“Are you going to actually buy something?” Zuko finally says. This guy has been in the shop for the last 8 out of 10 shifts he’s worked, and never come up to the counter. Whenever one of the other employees asks him if he needs anything he just smiles charmingly and makes a joke.

He’s not even funny.

Ok, he’s not _that_ funny.

“What? Oh,” the guy looks flustered, drops the book he was looking at, catches it midair, and looks so surprised that he promptly drops it again. “I—yeah!” he looks at Zuko full on for maybe the first time ever, and Zuko sucks in a breath. He has the bluest eyes Zuko has ever seen on a human being, and holy shit, he’s really beautiful.

“Good,” Zuko grumbles, and the guy scoots closer to hear him, “I thought you were casing the place.”

The guy throws back his head and laughs. Zuko feels hot from head to toe, and he shoves the basket of political buttons back into line with the caffeinated chocolate bars, trying not to blush.

“Do I look like a criminal?” the guy leans across the counter and practically bats his fucking eyelashes—which are long and black and yeah, he’s just plain pretty.

 _You look criminally hot_ nearly comes popping out of Zuko’s mouth, but he restrains himself because if he said that out loud he would have to move cities.

He likes it here and he (usually) likes his job and he doesn’t want to be driven out by a hot boy with cool earrings.

And maybe a tattoo…there’s a suspicious-looking black shape visible through the thin white cotton of the guy’s t-shirt, and _Shit, don’t stare don’t stare don’t stare_.

It takes Zuko a full 30 seconds to realize that he’s still waiting for an answer.

“No,” he mumbles. “You’re just always here. Do you even read?”

“Yes!” the guy looks affronted. “I _read_ ,” he casts around for the nearest shelf and grabs a book down.

He slaps it onto the counter and Zuko snorts. It’s in German.

“Bist Du sicher? Sprichst Du überhaupt Deutsch?” Zuko cocks an eyebrow at him. _Are you sure? Do you even speak German?_

“Natürlich sprech' ich Deutsch! Wer spricht es nicht?**” he saids without missing a beat.

 _Of course I speak German! Who doesn’t speak German?_ What.

“What?” Zuko is stupefied back into English, and hot guy looks incredibly smug.

“Zu schwer für Dich?” he grins, and Zuko scowls. _Too advanced for you?_

“Ich spreche perfektes Deutsch, Du Arschloch,” Zuko says. _I speak perfect German, you asshole._

He isn’t sure what is happening right now, except that he just snapped at the hot guy in German, which is not a terribly sexy language to begin with, and he can feel his chances of ever having another conversation with him plummeting by the second.

Except then the guy starts laughing again and leaves the book on the counter. It’s a Juli Zeh novel, which Suki explained to him is essentially a crime novel with quantum physics. In German. She seemed really invested in having it in stock, and who was he to fight with his boss about it?

The guy walks away, still chuckling to himself, and comes back a couple of seconds later with a small stack of books.

“Good enough?” he asks, fishing in the voluminous pocket of his green army jacket for his wallet. There are a couple of patches on it, and Zuko recognizes a few names, but decides that he doesn’t want to know what “The Vaselines” are. “I’m buying things,” he says proudly.

“These are coloring books,” Zuko stares down at them, then looks back up at the guy. “All of this time, and you’re buying coloring books?”

“They’re _adult_ coloring books,” he points out. “And _Schilf_ ,“ he pulls the novel from the bottom of the pile and waves it in front of Zuko. “Is there actual quantum physics in it?”

“Would that be a good thing?” Zuko asks, appalled.

The guy shrugs and sets it on top of the pile, then pushes the whole thing toward Zuko.

“Ring me up,” he says brattily, and Zuko sighs.

“What’s your name?” the guy has his elbows propped on the counter, chin cupped in one hand, leaning far past the generally accepted line that divides the cashier’s space from the customer’s.

“Zuko Sugita,” Zuko says, scanning the coloring books. There are at least 5 of them.

“I’m Sokka,” Sokka sticks his hand out. Zuko drops one of the books as he tries to get to it, but the second Sokka’s palm is wrapped around his he sort of stops caring about looking like an idiot. Sokka’s hand is really big and warm, his fingers long and blunt, nails filed short and painted black. Except his pinkie, which is white.

“I like your nails,” he finds himself saying before he can stop himself, and Sokka laughs again, not letting go of his hand. God, he laughs a lot. Zuko isn’t even funny.

“Thanks,” he finally releases Zuko. “My sister keeps telling me they make me look gay,” he winks hugely at Zuko, “and I keep telling her that’s the _point_.” Sokka drops a couple of bills onto the counter, scoops the books into his arms, and walks out of the shop.

“Damn that was smooth,” Zuko collapses against the counter.

 

* * *

 

“Damn that was smooth,” Sokka waits until he’s out of sight of the door before making a break for the closest shop doorway so that he can stuff the books safely into his bag. On secondhand he keeps one of them back, flipping through it under the safety of the awning. It’s full of highly stylized black and white drawings of animals, and he remembers the giant set of colored pencils sitting on his desk at home. This is shaping up to be an extremely successful Tuesday.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I have 4400 words of this, and it definitely could be done, and I have all three chapter cued up, but, like...I'm flirting with the idea of dragging it out a little, but I don't want to commit to anything I can't finish for you guys? 
> 
> WHAT SHOULD I DO?? I turn to you guys, because you're my cheerleaders and my favorite people ever.

The next time Sokka shows up to the bookstore, he isn’t empty handed. Zuko watches him with a now-familiar wariness as he completes his usual circuit of the shop, and then disappears into the science section. He’s looking particularly hot today, wearing a slim fitting emerald sweater and black skinny jeans. He’s swapped two of the hoops in his right ear for sparkly studs, and his nails are blue.

Zuko isn’t paying that much attention to him. Obviously.

Toph, moving silently for once in her life, manages to sidle up to him. He jumps when she coughs pointedly, and looks around at her.

“Make your move,” she whisper-shouts. Zuko is both baffled and socially aware enough to be embarrassed. He looks around hurriedly to make sure Sokka isn’t nearby before bending down to her level.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses.

She rolls her eyes ostentatiously and folds her arms across her chest. “He’s been into you for months, Zuko, just ask him out already,” she says. “I’m getting tired of watching you eye-fuck him from across the store.”

“You haven’t _watched_ me do anything,” Zuko says, affronted.

“You don’t need eyes to feel what’s goin on here,” Toph pokes him hard in the arm with a blunt forefinger, “the sexual tension is crushing my little lesbian soul.”

“Your soul,” Sokka scoffs, and Zuko jumps _again_. People have _got_ to stop sneaking up on him. Sokka is directly his gaze at Toph, and they’re both grinning.

“You guys know each other?” Zuko asks, feeling very wrong-footed.

“Of course we do,” Sokka slides a book across the counter. Zuko glances down at it and does a double take. Sokka must not have been kidding about wanting the quantum physics in his last purchase—just looking at the cover of this volume makes Zuko’s brain hurt.

There’s something sticking out of the back cover.

“What—?” Zuko pulls it out and unfolds it. It’s a page clearly torn from one of Sokka’s new adult coloring books, and it has been colored in with painstaking incompetence. It depicts a turtle and a duckling swimming around a small pond.

Zuko feels even more off kilter.

“It’s for you!”

Zuko looks up into Sokka’s shining face and says the only thing he can think of that explains this, “Did your little brother color it in or something?”

Sokka, seemingly impervious to the slight, grins even wider, “Nope, it was all me. And I want this.” He taps the cover of the massive physics text pointedly.

Zuko is still stuck on the drawing. There can’t be any way that Sokka knows that turtles and ducklings are his two favorite animals.

He rings up the book and pretends to be annoyed when Sokka keeps poking through the assorted baskets on the counter and adding odds and ends to his pile. He ends up with several witty buttons and a Frida Kahlo bookmark, plus a bumper sticker that says “Canada: America, but better!” that’s patterned with tiny moose and maple leafs.

“Are you done?” he finally snaps as Sokka is dragging a finger through a cardboard box full of tiny bisexual pride pins. He’s probably being bitchy, but his brain is all muddled from the drawing and it feels like Sokka is stalling but he has no idea why he’d do that.

He wants a nap.

 

* * *

 

 “I’m just saying, do we even know he’s _gay_?” Sokka stirs his bubble tea morosely.

“We work in the gayest bookstore in the city,” Toph smirks. “He’s gotta be.”

“You mean you don’t _know_??” Sokka yelps. The other patrons—consisting of two small white girls with giant buns and North Face jackets—glare at him, and he modulates his tone. “You’ve been encouraging this crush for weeks without even knowing whether or not he likes dudes?” Sokka hisses. “What is wrong with you?”

“Oh come on,” Toph shrugs, “he’s gotta be.”

“You keep saying that, but what actual evidence do you have?” Sokka asks.

“The way he looks at you, for one thing,” Toph snarks back. “And he and his girlfriend totally broke up under mysterious circumstances.”

“You neglected to mention that he had a girlfriend at all, Toph,” Sokka says flatly, tea abandoned.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Toph is being entirely too nonchalant about this whole thing for Sokka’s liking. He _colored_ for the guy, for god’s sake. “He’s the one who placed the order for the bisexual buttons.”

“Oh, well, that just proves it then,” Sokka says acerbically. “Clearly he’s down to fuck me.”

“I want no details about your sexual proclivities,” Toph holds a hand up warningly.

“You’re in no danger,” Sokka grumps, sliding down in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. He probably looks like a cranky toddler, but that’s also exactly how he feels right now.

“Keep bringing him ducklings and talking in German, or whatever,” Toph says. “He seems really into that so far.”

“German is like the least sexy language ever,” Sokka blows a few loose strands of hair up out of his face. “Except when he speaks it.”

“You’re doing it again,” Toph rolls her eyes.

“Doing what?” Sokka picks his tea back up and stares at it like it’s personally attacked him.

“Being all moony.”

“I am not _mooning_ ,” Sokka snaps. “Let’s change the subject. Do you think he’d like a baby deer next?”

“I think that you’re pitiful,” Toph says blithely. “And I think he’d love a baby deer. I think if you brought him a baby deer he would probably die.”

“I don’t want him dead! I want him, like…”

“Bent over the counter?”

“TOPH.”

“Well I don’t know how you boys do things,” Toph points out. “I’m assuming someone usually bends over.”

“You’re the WORST.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so life got in the way and I didn't actually get to extend this the way I had originally intended, so I hope you all can live with it. I'm sorry :-/ 
> 
> But! Now that I'm FINALLY wrapping up some preexisting WIPs I can start on some new things that will hopefully also be good? I'm a fan of quality over quantity when possible, so I hope you all enjoy the end of this one.

Zuko now has five coloring book pages tacked to the corkboard in his kitchen, and every time he passes by them he blushes. It’s getting pretty embarrassing, and he and his cat are the only ones there to witness his shame. He doesn’t know what he’d do if anyone came over and saw them. Maybe let them assume his little sister gave them to him or something.

He does have some admittedly adorable stick figure drawings proudly displayed on his fridge. They all come with titles like “Kiyi and Zuzu 4ever!” scrawled across them in pink crayon, the letters confidently misshapen.

He flicks at the corner of one of these, shifting it over so that he can look at the photo underneath, of him and Ursa and Kiyi, who’s clutching her doll to her chest. Ursa’s new husband had taken it, cheerfully arranging the three of them on their picnic blanket so that they formed a sunny family tableau; Ursa and Zuko leaning into one another, Kiyi perched precariously across both of their laps.

Zuko smiles to himself. His mother had spent years living in witness protection, while he was shunted aside to stay with Iroh and Azula had elected to stay by their father’s side. But now that Ozai was in prison, he and Ursa had found their way back to each other. Sometimes it feels like too much time has passed, but Kiyi helps to heal the distance.

The clock behind him chimes, and he curses, dropping the drawing back into place. He shoves his feet into his shoes and grabs his keys and bag—“It’s _not_ a man purse, Toph, it’s a messenger bag!”—and runs for the door. It’s not like his bosses will be mad he’s late, but he’ll feel irrationally guilty about it all day.

It’s raining again, so he runs the whole way to the shop, and it only takes ten minutes before he’s settling onto the stool behind the counter. He really shouldn’t be surprised when the door swings open another 15 minutes later and disgorges Sokka into his midst. He yanks his hood back and shakes his head like a dog, spraying water droplets across the closest stack of the local LGBT newsletter. Zuko winces sympathetically as the pages begin to warp.

“Zuko!” Sokka makes right for him, brandishing a bag of carryout. “I _knew_ you worked the lunch shift today,” he says, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “I have food!”

Zuko doesn’t want to examine too closely why Sokka’s apparent memorization of his shift schedule makes him feel all fluttery inside instead of being _creepy_ , but he reaches automatically for the bag. He’s also unsure of how Sokka knew that he’d forgotten to bring lunch today, but maybe Sokka just has a sixth sense.

He rips into the top bag and his mouth waters in spite of himself. It’s Indian food, his one true weakness.

“I had this feeling,” Sokka says, drawing a stool from the corner to sit across the counter from him, “that you liked spicy food.”

Zuko’s mouth is crammed full of lamb vindaloo, but he nods energetically.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited about anything,” Sokka laughs, and he looks even smugger.

Zuko takes a moment to look him over as he unpacks his own lunch. He’s wearing raggedy cutoff jean shorts that end mid-thigh, a striped bro-tank that stretches obscenely across his toned shoulders, and an enormous navy raincoat. Zuko can just make out the edge of the tattoo he’d suspected was there.

“What’s your tattoo?” he can’t help but ask, even though it’ll betray the fact that he was staring at Sokka’s chest. To his intense embarrassment, Sokka flushes and looks down into his chicken tikka masala. “If it’s personal, it’s ok!” Zuko awkwardly tries to recover, but Sokka shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, and stands up, shedding his coat. Zuko watches him in confusion, then feels his entire face go bright red as Sokka hikes his shirt up to reveal his entire chest. His shoulder and arm are patterned with beautiful sweeping lines of black ink that tumble down his left pec and collarbone. They almost look alive, ebbing and flowing across his skin like the ocean’s tide, and Zuko feels utterly transfixed.

“My mom was an artist,” he explains. “I got it done as soon as I was old enough. She did this piece right before she died.”

“Oh,” Zuko’s words stick in his throat, but he rallies quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Sokka’s face gets an oddly shuttered look about it. “Me too.” But then he perks up and sits back down to eat, which sadly involves his shirt going back on properly.

Zuko swallows thickly and returns to his lunch.

 

* * *

 

 

Zuko manages to hold it together for another week.

It’s right after lunch, and Zuko sees Sokka on the street a second before he bursts through the front door of the shop. He’s got headphones on and is shimmying energetically to the music blasting through them. The door swings open, ricocheting off the bookshelf adjacent, and Zuko can hear that Sokka is singing along.

“Let’s have some fun, this beat is sick,” Sokka twirls toward the desk, Walkman held high in the air as his arms flail to the beat, “I wanna take a ride on your disco stick.” He punctuates the last line with an obscene hip thrust, and Zuko feels his entire body go warm from head to toe.

“How did you get Lady Gaga onto a cassette tape?” Zuko asks as Sokka peels the headphones off.

“With great effort,” Sokka says cheerfully. “I brought you a present.” He flourishes another sheet of paper at him. Zuko reaches out automatically. It’s a coloring page of The Blue Spirit, the main character of a show he’d loved as a child. He was pretty sure that he’d worn his very own Blue Spirit mask every Halloween for ten years, and only laid it aside because it no longer fit his head.

Sokka does a full body roll and pirouettes to the music only he can hear, heading back into the stacks.

Zuko stands still for a few moments, staring at the page. He rapidly becomes aware that he has hit his breaking point. This must end.

He walks slowly around the edge of the counter, fingers tightening on the edge of the paper. He can very easily follow the sound of Sokka’s off-key singing toward the science fiction section. Because how does Sokka _know_ these things? How does he know that Zuko loves turtles, or craves spicy food, or watched The Blue Spirit? How does he already _know_ Sokka?

Zuko sees him standing by the entire shelf and a half devoted to Robert Jordan, laughing to himself at the terrible 90s cover art. He turns when Zuko draws closer, and the laugh lines on his face smooth out and then reform into a frown, obviously confused by whatever emotions are displayed on Zuko’s face.

“What the hell is this?” Zuko brandishes the paper in Sokka’s face. Sokka goes slightly cross-eyed, trying to keep it in view as it sails past his nose.

“A…coloring book page?” he ventures. His eyes refocus on Zuko’s face, obviously concerned.

“No, I mean…” Zuko lowers his arm, struggling to express the raging insecurity and bewilderment that had started building in his chest the first day he met Sokka. “ _Why?_ Why are you doing this?”

“...coloring for you?” Sokka backs up against the shelf, looking helpless.

“Yes!” Zuko whisper-shouts, blushing to the roots of his hair. Anyone could come in at any moment and need help, and here he is in the back of the store, cornering one of their few regular customers to demand that he confess to….what? Being nice to him? It sounds pitiful when he thinks about it that way.

“Well, um, I thought, like, maybe,” Sokka twists his fingers in the hem of his shirt, an uncharacteristically shy gesture. He reaches up and hooks a finger through the band of his headphones, slings them around his neck, fiddles with the buttons on his Walkman. Stalling.

Zuko feels the fight go out of him. Whatever his motivation, Sokka clearly doesn’t want to discuss it with him.

“It’s fine,” Zuko drops his own eyes to the drawing. He’s perturbed to see that he’s crinkled it. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to, like, attack you. I like the drawings. I’m just…” _suspicious of people who are kind to me_.

“I can stop giving them to you if they make you uncomfortable,” Sokka says quietly. Zuko looks up at him very quickly. Sokka meets his eyes, and Zuko can see something like fear in them, but they don’t waver.

“ _You_ make me uncomfortable,” Zuko blurts out, and then claps a hand to his mouth when Sokka recoils.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’ll—“ Sokka makes an abortive motion toward his bag, dropped by the footstool beside him.

“No!” Zuko lunges forward, unsure how to stop him from leaving, not sure how to take back his horribly inarticulate words. He crushes himself against Sokka, shoving him into the bookshelf more roughly than he intended. “It’s not like that!” He drops the drawing, presses the palm of his hand against Sokka’s chest. Sokka is frozen, staring at him, arms held strangely out to his sides.

Zuko kisses him.

It seems like the only thing to do—words have obviously failed him at this crucial juncture.

Sokka lets out a little “mmph” sound of surprise, but then his arms are coming around Zuko, and he’s very enthusiastically kissing him back. It’s a little messy, a weird angle, Zuko’s hands trapped between them and Sokka’s giant headphones digging into his jaw. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s also _hot_ and incredibly sweet, and Sokka is holding him so gently, like he really matters.

“It was, like, a _pants_ uncomfortable thing,” Zuko clarifies the second they break apart. “Also, I want to lick your tattoo.”

“Oh my god,” Sokka’s face breaks instantly into a dazzling smile, and Zuko thumps his head down against his collarbone, groaning.

“Did I just say that? Did I really just say that? Out loud?” he moans, melting against Sokka’s chest. His pecs feel even more incredible than they look.

“Oh I think you did,” Sokka sounds unreasonably delighted. “Could you please explain to me what a ‘pants uncomfortable thing’ entails? Is it the tightness of my pants? A certain tightness in _your_ pants?”

“Shut up, you suck,” Zuko grumbles halfheartedly.

“Only if you say please,” Zuko can hear the grin in Sokka’s voice.

Zuko lets out a series of sounds that he thinks were trying to be words but lost motivation partway there.

“Shut up,” he repeats, and uses fistfuls of shirt to haul Sokka back in.

“I KNEW IT.”

They leap apart and Zuko trips over Sokka’s bag, only saved from a concussion by Sokka’s arm shooting out and wrapping around his bicep at the last second.

“Goddammit, I owe Suki $20,” Toph is standing at the end of the row, hands on her hips, looking pissed. “Take the afternoon, asshole, I need time to simmer down.” She turns tail and stomps toward the counter. Zuko can hear a loud crash that sounds like his bag being thrown across the counter and into a postcard display.

He frees himself from Sokka and hurries out to clean up.

“DON’T,” Toph roars as he bends to retrieve a stack of Lake Michigan cards. “I want my surroundings to reflect my inner state of betrayal.”

“You can’t even see them,” Sokka comes around the edge of the shelves and pops a hip, grinning snottily at her.

“Asshole,” Toph says, “it’s the thought that counts.”

“I thought you _wanted_ us to date?” Sokka sighs.

“Yeah, but I put good money on princess over here,” she jabs a thumb at Zuko, who is trying sneakily to shuffle the cards into a neater pile, “not getting his shit together until _next_ week.”

“Hey!” Zuko begins, but Toph gives him a quelling look. “Let’s go,” he huffs to Sokka, who is grinning again. He mouths _Princess?_ at Zuko, who flushes red.

“Yeah, let’s go, _Princess_ ,” Sokka says, and offers Zuko his arm.

Zuko picks up his bag, takes Sokka’s hand, and allows Sokka to lead out of the shop and into the bright afternoon sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [beersforqueers on tumblr!](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/) Please come say hi, prompt me, yell at me, whatever floats your boat

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless self-promotion: [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)


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